


Yarrow, Feverfew, and Elderflower

by Whumpadoodle



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fever, Gen, My OC - Freeform, Sickfic, Whump, Whump Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-19 15:45:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14876672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whumpadoodle/pseuds/Whumpadoodle
Summary: Sam and Dean are hunting a witch. The hunt is successful, but Sam is hit with a spell. It doesn’t seem to faze him much, and he insists that he’s fine. And he is. Until... he’s not. Featuring sick!Sam, worried!Dean, and a helpful friend.





	Yarrow, Feverfew, and Elderflower

**Author's Note:**

> For the incomparable la-vie-en-whump, who I know will not mind an OC. 2018 Whump Exchange
> 
> I don’t typically write sickfics...in fact, this would be my first. So that explains that. Still, I hope you enjoy it.

“Sam?” 

Dean walked into the kitchen, running a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. “Sammy?” 

He could have sworn he had heard his brother up and moving earlier. Dean had pulled the covers over his head and ignored him then. They hadn’t returned to the bunker until hours after midnight, and the hunt that had kept them out had been draining. But then, weren’t they all. Dean shook his head and started to fix himself a cup of coffee. 

He was just about to take the first sip when a noise, halfway between a moan and a sob, drew his attention. He set down the steaming cup, instantly alert. He wasn’t wearing his gun—the wards on the bunker were making him soft—but he drew his knife and flicked it open. The noise came again, softer this time. From the next room. Dean edged cautiously towards the door and peered in. 

The knife fell from his fingers and clattered to the ground, forgotten. “Sammy!” Unlike the earlier casual curiosity, his brother’s name tore from his throat as Dean dropped to his knees beside him. 

The tall young man was stretched full-length and facedown on the floor. Another moan slipped between his slightly-parted lips. No wounds were visible. No blood. That was good. But there was no reaction when Dean shook him by the shoulder. His face was flushed and sweaty. That was not so good. Dean rested the back of his hand against Sam’s forehead. The heat was so intense, Dean felt it before his skin made contact.

Dean rolled Sam onto his back, looking for any sign of injury. “Come on, Sammy. Come on.” He lightly slapped his brother’s face, trying to rouse him. Sam’s eyes fluttered for a moment, then closed again. Dean clenched his jaw, fighting back panic, and reached for his phone. 

***

“Sam’s sick. Bad sick.” Dean didn’t waste any time after he admitted his friend to the bunker. “Found him on the floor this morning, passed out and burning up. I managed to get him back to his bedroom, but I’m worried.” 

Daisy shrugged out of her backpack, letting it fall to the floor. “Anything you need, Dean. I’m glad I was so close. What do you think is wrong?” 

“I don’t know!” Dean’s voice was tight with concern and frustration. “He was fine yesterday. Now he’s got a fever of a hundred and two, and he’s not responding to anything.” 

Daisy knelt by her backpack, rifling through it and pulling out various items. “Anything else? Any injuries? Cough? Vomiting?”

Dean shook his head. “As far as I can tell, it’s just the fever so far.” 

“Meds?”

“Just Tylenol. Doesn’t seem to be helping.” 

Daisy stood, her hands full of books, cloths, and bottles. “What’s the last thing you hunted?”

“We ganked a witch just last night. But—” Dean broke off. “Crap.”

“What?”

“She threw a spell at Sam. It struck, but nothing happened, so we figured it didn’t stick. He was fine when we got home.”

“Took a while to activate, maybe?” Daisy exchanged one book for another, juggling the other items in her hands. Dean reached over and took charge of half her inventory. “The witch is dead?”

“Ding Dong,” Dean said drily. 

“Spells usually dissipate when the caster dies,” she mused, following Dean to the kitchen. “Either this is unrelated, which seems unlikely, or the spell was meant to be much worse and is just taking its time to fade.”

Dean shuddered, grateful that the caster was indeed nothing but ash. 

“I guess we’ll know soon enough.” Daisy filled a basin with lukewarm water, then transferred the cloths into it to soak. From her supplies, she also added holy water to the container, just in case. 

“What do you mean?” 

“If he gets better, then the spell is wearing off. If he doesn’t…” She offered a determined smile. “Then we’ll figure that out.”

***

Daisy winced sympathetically when she saw Sam. The younger Winchester was stretched out on his bed, damp hair plastered to his forehead, shirt already soaked through with sweat. Dean found the thermometer and took another reading. 

“One hundred three,” he reported. 

Daisy set the basin of water by the bed and began to wring out a cloth. “Have you been able to get him to drink anything?” she asked. 

Sam jerked the moment the damp cloth touched his forehead. He turned his head away, grimacing as he moved. His eyes remained closed. His hands and arms twitched weakly, and he muttered something incomprehensible. Daisy glanced up at Dean, who met her gray eyes with his own equally-worried green ones. 

“Shh, Sam,” Daisy soothed, resting a hand on his shoulder as she applied the cloth on his forehead again. “It’s okay.”

Suddenly, his eyes snapped open and locked on Dean. “Dean!” he cried out. 

Dean gripped his hand tightly. “I’m here, Sam.”

Sam didn’t seem to hear him. “Dean!? Dean, help me!” He pulled away from Daisy’s cloth again, half sitting up. “Get away from me! No! Please!! Don’t touch me! Dean, where are you?! Please...I need you….” His voice was ragged and desperate. 

“Sam, I’m right here! I’m right here!” Dean grabbed his brother’s shoulders and looked directly into his eyes. Though Sam stared straight back, he didn’t seem to register Dean’s face. 

“Dean…” he whispered one last time before falling limply back into the pillows, asleep or unconscious.

Dean released him, stepping back from the bed and running his hands through his hair. “Daisy—”

“Go on,” she said quietly. “I’ll take care of him. Go clear your head.” 

He gave her a quick, grateful nod and fled. Daisy chose another cloth and squeezed the water out before gently washing the sweat from Sam’s face. 

***

Daisy emerged from Sam’s room twenty minutes later to find Dean sitting at the table, nursing a glass of whiskey. 

“I told you to clear your head, not self-medicate,” she scolded softly, taking the drink and pouring it into the sink. Dean didn’t protest and resumed staring glumly into space. 

“Hey,” Daisy said quietly, taking the chair next to him. “He’s going to be okay.”

“And if he’s not?” Dean asked bleakly, turning haunted eyes to his friend. “If he’s not, that’s on me.”

“Dean—”

“I hesitated, Daisy. I thought— I didn’t know. I thought for a minute we could talk her down. But she threw that spell and Sam just crumpled.” 

His face hardened, and Daisy knew the witch hadn’t taken more than her last breath after that. 

“He got up, said he was fine,” Dean continued. “I believed him. Then finding him this morning...not being able to wake him up…” His voice trailed off. 

Daisy rested a comforting hand on Dean’s arm. “He’s gonna make it through this.” 

“How do you know that?” Dean demanded, though without anger. “What if he doesn’t?” 

“I know because we’ll get him through it. Between the two of us, that spell doesn’t stand a chance.” 

Dean let his eyes close for a moment and took a deep breath. “Okay. What do we do now?”

“Sam’s quiet and resting.” She didn’t add how limp and still Sam had been after his episode of confusion. Except for the heat radiating from his skin and the steady rise and fall of his chest, Daisy might have thought he was dead. “We need to keep him cool so the fever doesn’t spike out of control. It’s good that he doesn’t have any other symptoms. Do you have any protective charm bags here? That might help dissipate the spell faster.” 

“Yeah, we’ve got some in one of the supply rooms. I’ll go get them.” Dean pushed back from the table, then paused and met Daisy’s eyes. “Thank you,” he said with quiet intensity. 

She nodded, and he left the room. Daisy went over to her backpack. She pulled out packets of herbs, selected a few, and replaced the rest. Then she went into the kitchen to set a pot of water to boil. Dean returned with two different charm bags, and she directed him to place them under Sam’s pillow. The water boiled, and Daisy scattered half the herbs into and left it to steep. 

“His temperature rose a half degree,” Dean reported when he came back from the living quarters. “He’s still asleep.”

Daisy pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Would you get the water and cloths from his room?”

Dean retrieved them swiftly and dumped the water into the sink, then refilled the basin with fresh water. “What’s that?” he asked when Daisy poured the remaining herbs into the dish, stirring them with her fingers. 

“Yarrow, feverfew, peppermint, and elderflower,” she explained, wiping her wet fingers on her shirt. “Useful natural remedies for treating fevers, and their protective properties don’t hurt either.” She indicated the pot on the stove. “There’s more steeping for a tea. Sam needs to hydrate, and we need to keep his skin cool.” She gathered up the basin and fresh cloths and headed for Sam’s room, Dean trailing behind her.

Sam was still sleeping and didn’t stir when they entered. His lanky form was sprawled across the bed, completely motionless. Dean and Daisy shared a concerned glance before they set to work. Dean stripped off Sam’s shirt while Daisy soaked the cloths in the herb-filled water. Sam didn’t react to Dean’s careful manhandling, nor did he react as they spread damp cloths over his chest, arms, neck, and forehead. His skin was flushed and tender. His lips were starting to become chapped, and Daisy wet them gently.

It wasn’t until they had covered most of his exposed skin with the damp cloths that his eyelids fluttered open. Dean noticed first and instantly was at his brother’s side. 

“Sam?”

Sam groaned and blinked slowly. “Wh—where am I?”

“You’re in the bunker. How do you feel?”

Sam’s eyes closed again, and Dean thought he had fallen asleep. Then they opened and focused on Dean. “What happened? Where am I?”

“You’re in the bunker,” Dean repeated. “You were hit with a spell last night. Daisy’s here, too.” 

Sam’s gaze wandered from Dean, then returned. “Flowers? Don’t need flowers.” Now there was a hint of slur to his words, as if he were having a hard time forming them. “What happened?”

“A spell,” Dean said patiently. “That witch we were hunting?”

Sam sighed heavily and didn’t respond for a moment. “Where am I? Where’s Dean?”

Dean looked sharply at Daisy, then back to his brother. “Sam?” he said softly. 

“Wha’happ’n’d?” Sam’s eyes were closed again before his words trailed off, and he slept.

The night was long and tense. Daisy and Dean took it in shifts to watch over Sam, but neither of them got much rest even when they had the chance. Dean paced and almost obsessively took Sam’s temperature. It crept up in tiny increments, and both of Sam’s caretakers made sure to switch out the wet cloths regularly. His skin was so hot, the cloths didn’t stay damp for long. Dawn came and went, and still their vigil continued. 

***

 _“Daisy!!”_

Dean’s frantic cry brought Daisy running from the kitchen. She burst into the room to find Sam jerking violently on the bed, muscles contracting and spasming. Dean looked frantic, trying to keep Sam from falling to the floor. As Daisy reached the bed, Sam’s body seized one last time, then he went limp. She helped Dean reposition the taller Winchester on the bed.

Daisy’s forehead furrowed with worry as she took his pulse, then lifted one of Sam’s eyelids and inspected his pupil. She took his temperature again. One hundred and six. 

“Adults don’t seize from natural fevers,” she said finally. “Children do, but not adults. This is definitely the work of a spell.” She set her jaw. “We’ve got to bring down his body temperature.”

“I’ll go fill a tub,” Dean agreed.

“See if there’s any more yarrow or elderflower in the kitchen,” Daisy called after him. 

It took both of them to maneuver Sam out of his jeans and then into one of the larger bathrooms. Dean had filled the tub with lukewarm water and added a generous sprinkling of herbs. Carefully, they lowered him into the water.

***

He was drowning. Sam could feel the water rising past his neck, filling his mouth. Blindly, he reached for something to hold, to keep his head above water. Hands closed around his arms, restraining him. He opened his eyes to see two forms standing over him, pushing him into the water. Muffled, incoherent voices filled his ears, sending sharp pains through his head. He struggled, trying to break free. 

One of the forms leaned closer, and Sam could see that it was a man. No, it wasn’t a man. It was a demon. He recoiled violently, splashing water. Black eyes pierced into Sam’s, and the demon spoke, but in no language Sam recognized. Terror washed over him, and he redoubled his efforts to escape. The water weighed him down, slowing his movements. The hands tightened their hold.

“Let go of me!” His voice was thick and heavy, but he managed to push the words out with all the force he could muster. With a surge of energy, he broke one arm free for a glorious moment before it was recaptured and held fast. The water washed up into his mouth, and he spluttered. 

“Sam!” 

He looked up, and the second form loomed over him. This one was a woman. A demon? He peered into her face, trying to make sense of the fuzzy details. 

“Sam, it’s okay. Calm down.” 

Her words made sense. But they didn’t. It wasn’t okay. How could it be when he was being tortured by demons? He looked at her face again, and this time it was accompanied by a nagging sense of familiarity. 

“Sammy.” 

That voice instantly stopped his struggles. He knew that voice. He trusted that voice. 

“Sammy, you’re okay. I’ve got you.” 

Sam let himself relax. Almost immediately, the hands eased their grip on his arms. Now the water was soothing instead of suffocating. Then he remembered the demon and sat bolt upright. He looked around frantically.

And saw Dean. 

He squinted, squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, then blinked and looked again. “Dean? Is that you?” 

“Sammy!” The relief that flowed from that single word was almost palpable. It washed over Sam and calmed his nerves. “Yeah, it’s me. I’m here.”

The world slowly started to make sense again. Sam saw that he was in a tub filled with water and...plants? That bit didn’t quite make sense. But Dean was kneeling next to him, a reassuring hand on his his shoulder. Sam looked over at the woman, noting her blond hair and gray eyes, and the nagging familiarity also made sense. 

“Daisy?” His dry, chapped lips protested as he spoke her name.

“In the flesh.” She smiled. “You gave us quite a scare. Don’t do that again, okay?” 

Dean reached over and rested a hand on Sam’s forehead. “I think your fever finally broke.” Dean half-pulled, half-steadied Sam as he stood, water running in shiny rivulets down his skin. Daisy wrapped him in a large towel, and they both provided support as he stepped out of the water.

“What happened?” Sam demanded, water pooling at his feet. 

“What do you remember?” Dean asked, guiding him out of the bathroom and down the hall. 

“I remember coming home from the hunt and crashing on my bed. That’s about it.”

As Dean and Sam headed back to Sam’s room, Daisy watched them with a relieved, exhausted smile. Sam was going to be okay. 

***

“Are you sure you have to leave?” Sam shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the door jamb. He had his color back. He still fatigued easily, and Dean and Daisy had spent the last two days trying to get him to rest while trying to catch up on their own sleep.

Daisy hoisted her backpack onto her shoulders. “Sadly, yes. There’s a job that I’ve been putting off, and it’s tired of being ignored.” She stood on tiptoe and dropped an affection peck on Sam’s cheek. 

“You’ll call us if you need anything.” It wasn’t a question. Dean draped a heavy arm around Daisy’s shoulders and squeezed. 

“Of course,” Daisy agreed. Then her voice shifted to serious. “Sam, no hunts for you. For at least a week. I mean it.” 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yes, mother,” he teased. 

She smiled indulgently at him, then turned to embrace Dean. As she released him, she whispered in his ear, “Try to keep him away from hunts for at least two more days, okay?” She knew it was foolish to expect a week, but she hoped that Sam would be sensible enough to take a day or two more to recuperate. Then again, he was a Winchester. 

Dean grinned. “Will do.” 

“And Sam?”

“Yeah?”

Daisy grinned impishly. “Next time a witch throws a spell at you...duck!”


End file.
